


The Nightwatchman

by Elaur



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Men of Myth - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Men of Myth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:23:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elaur/pseuds/Elaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor is drinking and sulking. The young and beautiful nightwatchman finds him, alone and defenseless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Martin the Nightwatchman is played by Nicolaj Coster-Waldau, in a recurring role from his movie "The Nightwatchman," where he is disgustingly cute and squishy. As always, the "Men of Myth Convention" is a creation of Stewardess, for which we are eternally grateful.

Connor was moping. He knew it. And the whisky wasn’t helping matters. He’d passed the point of even pretending to be cordial to the other party-goers.

He looked around the ballroom that one of the convention groups had rented for one of the many Last Day Parties. He couldn’t for the life of him remember who the hell his hosts were, but it didn’t matter. The place was packed, the music was wild, and the bar was open. And he was moping.

It wasn’t the fact that he was alone. Because he could find himself a companion for the evening, no problem. Or multiple companions. The Men of Myth convention offered an endless variety of companionship like a Swedish smorgasbord. Heroes, villains, male and female, whatever your mood. Just this afternoon in the Weapons Display Room, he’d had a lively conversation with a strange pair of folks. They were smugglers by trade, living on a space ship of all things, and had an odd way of talking, but hell that was nothing new. The bloke, who was quite attractive in a sneaky sort of way, was talkative and friendly, but the woman, a beautiful tall and dark-skinned Amazon, just stared at him, making his nuts want to crawl back into his body.

The bloke, Mal was his name, had invited him over to his ship to show off his personal weapons collection, and no doubt other things, but Connor had declined, hoping against hope that he’d meet up at some point with Murphy…

Damn. He hadn’t even wanted to think his name.

Now he was beyond moping. He was sulking. Fucken Murph! He’d taken off more than twenty-four hours ago with that Trojan warrior, Hector, and Connor hadn’t heard a peep from him in that time. Not a note or a phone call, not even to brag that he was getting his brains fucked out his ears. He scowled and hoped Murph was getting a beatin’ along with everything else.

He pushed off the wall and headed toward the bar. He’d swipe a bottle of whisky and look for Mal and make his own damn party.

~~~

Connor had no idea what time it was or how long he’d been wandering from party to party looking for Mal—not Murphy—but he’d drunk half the bottle and was getting a wee bit tired. And irritable, because somewhere along the way he’d taken a wrong turn and gone down the wrong staircase and was now hopelessly lost.

“Shite!” All these half-lit corridors looked the same and he couldn’t tell if he was getting somewhere or nowhere.

So he did what any man in his position would do. He sat on the floor, his back against the wall and legs stretched out in front of him, and sipped at his bottle. He’d pass out soon and someone would find him.

He was right except for the passing out part. He was entertaining himself by contemplating the various creative ways he would punish Murphy when he heard a strange, rhythmic squeaky noise.

“Fucken ‘ell!” Connor groused, covering his eyes at the flashlight beam searing his retinas. “Get that outta my face!” It clicked off.

“You’re not supposed to be down here.”

“And you need new shoes. Ya can’t sneak up on people if they hear ya comin’ a mile away.”

“I don’t… It’s not part of my job to sneak up on people.”

Connor stared up at the man, his eyes still readjusting to the dimness. He blinked a couple times. “Gary?”

“What? No, my name’s Martin.” The man frowned. “What are you doing down here anyway?”

“Fucken lost.” Connor tried to get up but promptly keeled over.

“And drunk.” The man—Martin—grabbed him by the bicep, hauled him up to his feet and leaned him against the wall. Connor stared at him in surprise, almost dropping the whisky bottle.

“Yer strong,” he mumbled, taking a good look. Martin was a lot younger than he’d thought. Early twenties maybe. Taller than him. And damn pretty.

Martin suddenly grinned shyly. “Yeah? I’m on the wrestling team at the university in Daytona.”

“Oh aye? A champion, likely, eh?” Connor grinned back, captivated.

The young man actually blushed. “Well, I’ve won a few,” he said modestly.

Connor held up the whisky bottle and raised his brows in query.

“Oh no, I couldn’t. I’m on duty, and besides,” he said, blushing harder, “I’m not twenty-one yet.”

“Bloody hell,” Connor breathed. Knowing it was lecherous, but not currently in any condition to act gentlemanly, he slid his hand up the young man’s arm and down his chest. “Nice…”

Martin gaped at him and turned even redder, if that was possible.

“You’re very drunk,” he rasped.

“Oh aye. But not too drunk not to know what I want,” Connor whispered. It was obvious the young man hadn’t rejected him outright. In fact, despite his red face, his eyes were dilated, and to Connor that meant interest.

Martin stepped back away from him and looked down the corridor, as if expecting someone to show up.

“I think I should take you—“ he began to say.

“Somewhere more comfortable?” Connor finished for him.

“Um.” Martin took another step back.

Connor pushed away from the wall and staggered a bit. “Have ye ever had a man? Or have ye just fooled around wit’ the other ignorant boys in the locker room?”

Connor grinned at the bald lust in the young man’s face. He felt righteously lecherous, if that was possible. Here was someone who would appreciate his skills and not take him for granted.

“Ya ever had a proper blow job?” Connor asked, bringing the whisky bottle up to his lips and licking the rim.

~~~

The next few minutes were a blur. Martin had dragged him into some sort of office with a beat-up sofa and had stripped him of his all his clothes, except for his boxers. At the moment, Connor was content to let Martin explore his body with his hands and mouth. He smiled, remembering how it was for him, the first time he was allowed complete access to someone else’s body. Martin was rather clumsy, but very eager, and that made up for a lot.

Martin yanked off his boxers and froze.

Connor lifted his head from the sofa cushion. “What?” he asked worriedly, hoping he hadn’t unknowingly pissed himself.

“You’re not… I mean, I thought you’d be…”

“Aye, well. I am, as you previously pointed out, quite drunk. And a bit more experienced than you, so it takes a bit of work, eh?”

“Oh.”

“Besides,” Connor continued, sitting up, “I remember offering you the blow job.”

Martin perked up immediately. “Um, yeah. You did.”

They reversed positions, with Martin sitting on the sofa and Connor on his knees. Martin helped Connor with the removal of his clothing, which was a good thing because he would have been fumbling forever otherwise.

Connor sucked his breath in appreciation at the sight of the young man’s cock. He was cut, like most Americans, but it was lovely nonetheless. And already weeping at the tip. He hadn’t done anything but look and Martin was already panting. He grinned, knowing that it would take about thirty seconds for Martin to come, and then it would be his turn.

He was going to enjoy teaching Martin the finer points of giving head.

~~~

Again, he’d been right. Martin had shot off almost immediately, calling out to God and clutching Connor’s hair. Connor would have preferred it to have taken a bit longer—he was enjoying himself after all—but he was sure this was just the first, if he correctly remembered himself at that age.

But now it was his turn, and Martin was doing a damn good job of it, even though he’d never seen an uncut cock up close and personal and had been hesitant at first.

“Mmmmmm….” Connor groaned and slid his fingers through Martin’s blond hair. “Aye, that’s it. What a clever lad you are…”

Martin snorted at the compliment. He pulled his mouth away and stroked with his fist. “I’m not completely ignorant, you know. I’ve read books.”

“Books, aye,” Connor groaned. “Books are good. Oh GOD!” Martin’s hands were broad and strong and knew where to squeeze to get the best effect. He was going to come like a geyser.

“Fuck! Martin, stick yer finger up my arse!” Connor cried.

“What?” the young man asked, his eyes wide and innocent. “Now?”

“Fuck yes, now. Do it!” It was one of Murphy's best tricks, guaranteed to pop Connor’s cork violently. He wasn’t sure if Martin would attempt it, but then he saw the young man wet his index finger, his blue eyes fixed on Connor’s. Murphy tended to rub his prostate, but this boy pressed on it like it was a panic button.

Connor’s vision went white. He came to with Martin’s grinning face just inches from his.

“That looked like fun. I gotta try that myself,” Martin told him cheerfully.

Connor groaned. He could barely feel his legs and moving was not an option. He hoped Martin wasn’t expecting him to do anything for the next few days.

“Aye, fun. A barrel o’ monkeys full o’ fun,” he croaked.

Martin’s grin had softened to a shy smile. “Can I… will you let me… kiss you?” he asked, his ears turning pink.

Connor’s heart jumped, surprise evident on his face.

Martin pulled back from him, looking down. “Never mind,” he said. “That was stupid of me.”

“No,” Connor replied, quickly reaching out and grabbing Martin by the back of the neck. So much for not moving. “I want you to,” he whispered, pulling Martin toward his mouth.

The kiss was at first sweet and hesitant on Martin’s part, reminding Connor painfully of Murphy and their first kisses, filled with fear of rejection and of getting caught. Martin warmed up quickly though and was soon sucking on Connor’s tongue and chewing on his lips like he would eat him raw.

“Jesus Christ!” Connor panted, breaking away for a moment. “Where’s my whisky? I need a wee sip.” Martin handed him the bottle and Connor took a big gulp, eyeing the young man the whole time. He wasn’t that much older than the boy, but he was suddenly afraid he wouldn’t be able to keep up.

“You know, you shouldn’t drink so much. It’s bad for your health,” Martin admonished, frowning at Connor’s “wee sip.”

“I’m Irish,” Connor explained. “I’ll die if I don’t drink.” He snorted with laughter at Martin’s disbelieving look. “It’s a joke, lad.”

“Oh. Well, um…” Martin turned shy again, looking away. “I’m still a vir—never fucked anyone yet. Or b-been fucked.”

“Oh aye?” Connor asked, smiling. As if it wasn’t self-evident. “Y’know, ya don’t have to take it up the arse. Lots of men don’t.”

“Have you?” Martin asked, full of eager curiosity. It was adorable.

“I have, but with only one man. And it will stay that way too,” he pointed out, emphasizing it with a poke to Martin’s chest. “I’m a slut and love sucking cock, but my arse belongs to one person, so don’t even think about it.”

“He must be special.”

“That he is.” Connor sighed, letting his head fall back against the cushion. “He’s a fucken scoundrel too.”

“So… I’ve been thinking.”

Connor raised his head back up and lifted an eyebrow in query.

“My D-dad told me that I’ll remember my first time forever, so I should pick someone I’d want to remember.”

“Good advice. Your Da's a wise man.”

Martin blinked at him, his corn-fed, all-American blond good-looks straight from a Rockwell painting.

Connor winced when he realized what the young man was saying. “What? No, I’m not someone you’d want to remember, believe me. Besides, I’m not good with virgins!”

“But I do want to remember you. I’m sure I’ll never see you again and that’s so romantic,” Martin retorted, rather inexplicably. Worse, he started giving Connor a strange mooning look.

“I don’t—“ Connor tried to say, but Martin stopped him with a deep kiss.

“I want you,” the young man whispered. “I want you to fuck me. Hard.”

“Fucken Christ,” Connor gasped as Martin licked his mouth. The boy was learning fast. Never one to be too constrained when it came to his dick, Connor’s resistance melted like a popsicle in hell. “We need lube and condoms. And go wash up.”

“Wash?”

“Aye. I’m gonna play the trombone.”


	2. Chapter 2

His shoulder was being shaken hard and it was irritating the fuck out of him.

“Fuck off, Murph, leave me alone,” he mumbled, still half asleep.

“It’s Martin, and this is the second time you’ve called me by another man’s name.”

Connor opened one eye and tried to focus. “Well, I barely know ya, so don’t take it personal,” he croaked.

Instead of replying, Martin waved a small plastic bottle in front of his face.

“Wha’ th’ fuck’s that?” Connor asked after clearing his throat.

“I did what you asked,” Martin said, not answering the question.

“Didja? And what’s that then?” He hoped the boy would just tell him and go away, leave him to his whisky dreams.

A tiny frown appeared between Martin’s brows. The boy insisted on not answering his questions. It was annoying as hell. Instead, he startled Connor by grabbing him by the elbows and yanking him into a sitting position. That’s when Connor noticed they were both naked. And it all came back to him in a rush.

“Ah, shite,” he pronounced with feeling. He had made a promise, and he sure as hell didn’t think he could follow through. “What d’ y’ say we try this tomorrow when I can stand up?”

Again, instead of answering his question, Martin turned away and picked up a Thermos, one of those big, stainless steel fuckers that could be used as a weapon. Connor flinched, knowing that in his current condition he wouldn’t be able to completely avoid being hit. But Martin just uncapped it and poured the contents into the Thermos cup. The smell of strong coffee wafted over.

“Christ, man. Y’ don’t know when to give up, do ye?”

Martin just smiled and put the cup in Connor’s hand.

“I know what I want,” he said, throwing Connor’s words back at him.

Connor took a sip of the coffee. The two men stared at each other as he slowly downed the contents of the cup, with Connor scowling and Martin smiling eagerly. He handed the cup back to Martin and the boy set it aside, then started caressing Connor’s thighs slowly, pressing in with his thumbs, leaning in for a kiss.

The whisky in Connor’s blood seemed to be pooling in his belly, slowly warming his nether regions and clearing his head. He fell into the kiss, his entire attention on Martin’s hungry mouth.

Martin’s mouth left his and ate its way down his neck to his chest where it lingered on a nipple, making Connor gasp. It traveled to the other side to bite and suck on the other one, which made Connor groan. It slowly traveled down his belly, nipping and licking and sucking, to concentrate a while on a hip, then down his leg. He spread his legs automatically and Martin’s mouth licked and sucked on the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Connor sighed and closed his eyes, his head lolling back against the sofa cushion. He moaned appreciatively when Martin’s hands roved up his thighs to caress his flanks and chest. He could fall back asleep in about thirty seconds if this kept up.

Apparently Martin became aware of his state because his wet, hot mouth engulfed Connor’s flaccid cock and sucked hard.

“Guh!” Connor barked in surprise, feeling his cock twitch and fill. Martin worked it until he was hard and throbbing, apparently having taken his previous lessons to heart. “That was… good, yeah,” Connor praised him breathlessly, still rather stunned with surprise. Martin grinned happily and handed him a condom and the small plastic bottle he’d shown him before.

He read the label on the bottle. Mineral oil. He couldn’t remember if that reacted negatively with latex, but whatever. He knew he was clean. It was just a formality. He sighed deeply in resignation. The kid was not gonna let him get out of it.

“Alright then. Do ye want to face me or face down?”

Martin’s eyes bugged out a bit. “Um. I—which is easier for the first time?” The boy suddenly seemed nervous, now that the piper was calling.

“Listen,” Connor told him, as much to get himself out of it as to reassure the kid. “We don’t have to do this. I told ya, a man doesn’t have to take it up the arse.”

But Martin got a stubborn look in his pretty blue eyes. Connor repressed a chuckle. He was sure the boy’s mother had seen that look countless times. Just like his own Ma.

“I want to do it. So, which is easier?”

Connor shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. It’s whether you want me to see your face or not. Some blokes, they feel more—vulnerable I guess, if their top is watchin’ them fall apart.”

Martin’s frown softened to a melting smile. “I want you to see—and I want to see your face.”

Connor looked at the boy with trepidation. This was starting to feel—dangerous. He was thinking he’d rather have Martin swing a fist at his face, which was something he could counter, rather than this sweetness he had no defenses against. He took a deep breath and slowly stood up, groaning softly.

“Alright. Lay on the sofa and hold on to your knees.”

Martin flushed and licked his lips. “Are you going to…uh, you know… get me ready?”

“ ‘Course I am. D’ya think I’m a rapist?” Connor retorted, feeling rather insulted.

“No, I—I’m sorry.” Martin reached out and touched Connor on the bicep. “I trust you.”

Connor snorted. “Don’t see why you should, actually. Ye don’t know me from Jack the Ripper.”

Martin laughed. “Well, that makes me feel loads better.” He moved a small cushion to the armrest for his head and lay down, pulling his legs up and spreading them.

Connor got dizzy for a moment. He really hadn’t appreciated how beautiful Martin was. His skin was perfect and pale, like Murphy's, only the hair on his legs was nearly invisible it was so blond. So he was one long expanse of silky white skin. Except for his scrotum and generous cock, which were a dark rosy pink and surrounded by a cloud of dark blond hair. And his puckered arsehole. Virgin arsehole, he reminded himself, and shuddered with lust.

He mentally kicked himself. He was about to pop the boy’s cherry. Maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t completely sober, because he thought he’d be on this boy like white on rice right about now.

“Have ye ever—“ he paused as he tried to think of a nice way of saying it, “—done any arse-play?”

“You mean like stick my fingers…or something else… up there? No. I’ve been too chicken.” Martin blushed furiously, the red spreading to his chest. Connor’s cock throbbed and his vision blurred. He covered his eyes for a moment with his hand.

“Jesus,” he whispered, making it a real prayer this time.

“I, uh, can understand how a guy would feel vulnerable in this position,” Martin offered. He wiggled his arse nervously, which didn’t help Connor’s concentration one iota.

“Listen,” Connor croaked, and cleared his throat again, “I’m gonna prepare you as best I know how, and I’ll be as gentle as I can, but there’ll be a time when I’m gonna lose meself and I won’t be—well—responsible for what I do.”

Martin bit his bottom lip and fluttered his eyelashes nervously. “Ok. That’s understandable. I’m sure I’ll do the same.”

With a nod, Connor sat on the sofa between the kid’s white thighs and uncapped the bottle.

“Um,” Martin interrupted, and Connor stopped from pouring.

“Aye?” Connor asked, afraid now that the kid had changed his mind about the whole thing.

“You know, I don’t even know your name.”

Connor was nonplussed. “You don’t? Oh. Well, I’m Connor Macmanus, Pleased t’ make yer acquaintance.” He held out his hand between Martin’s legs for a shake and both of them broke into laughter.

The tension was suddenly gone and Connor slapped the boy’s thigh. “No worries, Martin. I’ll be takin’ good care of ye. You’ll be howlin’ my name soon enough,” he said with a wink.

“Oh good. I figured I needed to know your name for a reason.” Martin smiled and the sun came out in the small room. Connor hiccupped and looked down quickly to concentrate on the pouring of the oil.

“What did you mean earlier when you said you were going to play the trombone?” Martin asked, every inch of him innocence and silken beauty.

Connor squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s a surprise. Guaranteed to relax even the most skittish stallion.”

With his oiled gun hand, he grabbed Martin’s half-hard cock and stroked leisurely but firmly. Martin’s mouth fell open and his eyes closed. With an index finger he teased Martin’s tight hole, making him grunt breathlessly. Connor leaned in and gave it a swipe with his tongue.

“Oh GOD!” Martin yelled.

“Mmmmhmmm…” Connor murmured comfortingly. He stretched himself out as best he could with his lower half hanging off the sofa since there wasn’t much room left.

He buried his face in between the boy’s cheeks and ate at him with lips and tongue while stroking him hard and slow. The kid started to yowl incoherently and Connor had to grip his thigh and hold on or he would have been knocked flat from all the thrusting and flailing. Connor was just getting into it when the kid arched his back, tight as a bowstring, and came hard, groaning like his guts were being ripped out.

Connor kneeled back and quickly rolled the condom on and climbing onto the sofa between Martin’s spread thighs. The kid was panting like a bellows, mouth slack and eyes closed, limbs all askew.

“Relaxed, are ye?” Connor grinned. Martin replied with a soft grunt. Connor ran a couple of fingers through the still-warm semen pooled on the kid’s quivering belly muscles. Martin opened his eyes and Connor caught his gaze by bringing his wet fingers up to his mouth to suck on.

“Jesus!” Martin gasped, his eyes widening. “I never—didn’t think people really did that.”

“Mmmm…” Connor moaned, closing his eyes as he stroked himself and sucked hard on his fingers.

He looked at Martin’s face, who was staring at him with mouth agape and cheeks flushed deep pink. “Pull your legs back up,” he commanded, his voice rough with lust. Martin did what he was told with no hesitation this time. Connor slowly scooped up more semen and wet the puckered skin at Martin’s arsehole. Martin groaned deeply, flinging his head back and grinding his hips.

Connor lost the rhythm of his breathing and had to take a moment to recover.

“Fucken ‘ell, I’m gettin’ too old for this shite,” he muttered. He dug for the little bottle of oil that had fallen between the sofa cushions and popped the top. He poured a generous amount on his fingers and rubbed Martin gently again.

“Oh God,” Martin moaned. “If the fucking feels as good as this… sweet Jesus I’m gonna become a horrible slut.”

Connor laughed so hard he choked on his own saliva. “Oh my dear boy. How I sympathize with you. As you Americans are fond of saying: ‘Been there, done that,’” he pronounced with a chuckle.

He quickly inserted a finger and rotated his wrist, making sure the lube was evenly distributed. A second finger was added to the first and Martin hissed.

“Aye, it burns at first. But that’ll go away. Just relax. Trust me.”

He pulled out his fingers and added more oil. Back in they went, but deeper this time. Martin scrunched his face and Connor could feel him tightening against his fingers, but watched with an odd feeling of pride as the kid forced himself to relax.

Connor hadn’t even tried earlier to find the kid’s prostate, waiting for him to get used to the new intrusion. He rotated his wrist again and curled his fingertips just so.

Martin yelped. “Oh my God,” he whispered, staring wide-eyed at Connor.

“Aye,” Connor agreed, a wide grin spreading his lips.

Connor pulled Martin’s heavy legs over his shoulders and leaned forward, the head of his cock pressing gently against where his fingers had been a moment before. He took firm hold of the base and pressed harder. He felt Martin tighten up instinctively.

“When I press, you press back. It will open you up to me,” he instructed, caressing Martin’s thigh.

“Ok,” Martin replied, and licked his bottom lip. “Kiss me…”

They reached for each other, and Martin was doubled almost in half. He practically chewed on Connor and Connor let the boy distract himself.

He increased the pressure and Martin opened up to him suddenly. Connor found himself inside up to the root.

“Fuuuuck…” Connor groaned.

Martin was breathing in panting gasps, trying to deal with the new sensations.

Connor was panting, trying to keep from passing out.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Alright. Slow and easy. Neither of us is going to die.” Connor fervently hoped this was true. He twitched his hips and Martin squeaked. Literally. Squeaked. Connor broke into disbelieving giggles. Soon Martin joined in with breathy chuckles, and Connor pressed in deeper, making him gasp.

Martin clutched his forearms as Connor slowly moved his hips, partially withdrawing and pressing back in.

“Jesus, it burns!” Martin gasped.

‘Yer tightening up,” Connor croaked. He changed his angle and pressed up. Martin’s transformation was spectacular.

Connor was sure for long moments that he really wouldn’t survive the next few minutes. Murphy had always been vocal and their first few times had been quite memorable, but they had both been equally ignorant, novices, fumbling and clumsy. Connor no longer was that boy; he was experienced and, he liked to think, skilled, and Murphy had kept up apace.

For Connor, in this moment, Martin was Murphy at that young age, willing and intensely passionate, where every sensation was brand new. And it was Connor giving him the experience he would remember forever.

He had quickened his pace unconsciously, thrusting deeply, goaded by Martin’s moaning and cursing and grinding hips. Martin reacted by letting go of his arms and clutching his hips hard enough to leave bruises.

“Jesus!” Martin howled, “It feels like I’m gonna come!”

“Ya probably are, ya twat!” Connor ground out, torn between wanting to howl himself and laugh outright.

“But I’m not touching myself!”

Connor howled then, and grabbed the kid’s rock-hard cock, giving it a few yanks.

Martin’s body tightened and the next thing Connor knew he was on the floor across the room, keeled over onto his side and pressed against some filing cabinets. The first thing he did, and he was embarrassed to admit, was to make sure his dick was still attached.

It was there, still hard as iron.

He let his head fall back to the carpeting and gave in to laughter. He laughed until tears squeezed out from between his lids. He laughed until Martin hauled him upright and shook him worriedly.

Connor composed himself enough to look up at Martin. “Well, so how was it then?” he managed between bouts of breathless chuckles.

“I—it was, well, amazing.”

“Aye, well and I’m glad of it,” Connor told him, patting his cheek. “Now I—“

But Martin didn’t let him finish. He picked him up in a fireman’s carry and tossed him on the sofa.

“But we’re not finished yet,” he whispered against Connor’s lips.

“We’re not?” Connor breathed, half-closing his eyes anticipating Martin’s hungry mouth on his—and other places. He was not disappointed.

~~~

The dawn was lightening the sky and Connor could smell the ocean on the breeze. He shuffled across the empty avenue to the motel he and Murphy were staying at. Neither of them liked the ostentation and crowded conditions of the Marriot. They preferred the quiet mediocrity—and anonymity—of the Motel 6.

The week at the MoM convention had been exhilarating and exhausting, capped by one of the best trysts he'd had in a while. He'd never underestimate the deflowering of virgins again. But at the moment all he wanted was to take a quick shower to get the stink off him and fall into bed to sleep for the next 24 hours. He didn’t expect Murph to be back any time soon from the arms of his Trojan warrior prince.

He fumbled for the key card and was about to put it in the slot when the door was yanked open, revealing a very angry twin brother.

“What?” Connor asked, offended that Murphy should be angry with him.

“’What?’ I’ve been fucken waiting for ya all fucken night, ya wanker! Where ya been?” Murphy yelled, yanking him into the room. He pulled him closer and took a big sniff. “Oh, out whorin’ eh? Leavin’ me to watch crappy movies on cable, bored out o’ me fucken head!”

Connor just stood there, letting Murphy rant, too tired to argue back. Finally Murph ran out of steam.

“Ya done wit’ yer bitchin’?” Connor asked sweetly.

Murph’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Aye, but maybe not.”

“Fine.” Connor took off his tee-shirt, revealing Martin’s handiwork of the night. Murph’s eyes bugged out staring, and Connor pulled back his fist and let his brother have it on the chin.

Murphy fell back onto the queen-sized bed, out like the proverbial light.

“Fucken ‘ell,” Connor muttered, shaking out his fist. He looked around the room for his duffle bag. “Where’s the fucken rope….”

 

~FIN~


End file.
